


Empathy

by mako_lies (wingeddserpent)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 04, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:01:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/pseuds/mako_lies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pamela comes to visit Missouri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empathy

**Author's Note:**

> For my Pamela/Missouri square at SPN Pairing Bingo. Set between 4.10 and 4.15.

Rufus drops her in Lawrence. 

(For the first time ever, she picks the music for the drive—and she nearly wishes he _hadn’t_ let her. Just another reminder. You know you’re in bad shape when _Rufus Turner_ offers kindness.)

Pamela adjusts her new glasses. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she aims a grin in his direction. “Next time, I’ll thank you proper.” Out of habit, she winks. Wishes she hadn’t immediately as the painful reminder settles into her. 

Beside her, Rufus grunts, and Pamela laughs as she takes a hint by exiting his car. She walks straight till she hears the roar of Rufus’s car leaving. Ahead, a door creaks open; Pamela just hopes it’s the right one. After all the forced niceties, maybe Rufus decided to drop her in some random spot to fuck with her. Pamela wouldn’t put it past him. “Oh, honey,” Missouri’s voice sounds, “Come here and let me get a good look at you.”

Missouri’s hands settle soft and warm on Pamela’s face, cupping her cheeks. Pamela takes in a deep breath, smells mint and chamomile, and lets herself relax into Missouri’s touch. The touch tangible, solid, and since this happened everyone wants to touch Pamela, guide her—that clammy touch of pity Pamela’s found she hates more than anything. But Missouri’s always been different.

(Different when she was younger, too, just discovering her powers and everybody else  thought Pamela was crazy. Missouri’d believed her from day one.)

“Gonna invite me in?” Pamela lifts her eyebrows. 

Missouri does her one better and leads her inside. As soon as Pamela enters the house, she feels all the tension leave her—Missouri has that effect on people. Half the time, Pamela thinks it might be some part of her abilities, but mostly, Pamela is fairly certain it’s just something about Missouri, no power needed. Pamela settles onto the couch Missouri presses her to. “You wanna tell me what happened, honey?” she asks, like Bobby or someone didn’t tell her everything. 

Maybe she senses a need to talk in Pamela Pamela doesn’t recognize in herself. Pamela feels for the dead, not the living. Could be that Pamela was marked for dead from the beginning, but, then, isn’t everybody?

“…Those Winchester boys are trouble, let me tell you,” Pamela says, leaning back. “They’ve gotten themselves mixed up with angels.”

“Trouble just like their daddy,” and Missouri sounds sad, or something like it. Hard to tell when Pamela can’t see her.

And, well. There’s no way in Heaven or Hell that Pamela wants to meet Daddy Winchester. So instead she rests her head on the back of the couch, listening to Missouri putter around the kitchen. Glasses clink and her footsteps are heavy enough that Missouri might be being purposely loud. Pamela wets her lips with her tongue, words caught in her suddenly dry throat.

“You wanna talk about it, sweetheart?” Missouri asks again as she enters. A warm cup is placed in her hand. Pamela hisses as she burns her tongue on the green tea, and Missouri says, too late, “You be careful, now.”

“Not today. Today, I want to sleep on your couch,” she grins at her, lifting her glasses to show off her new extra-psychic eyes.

She hears Missouri laugh, soft. Maybe she picked up on the thought. Who knows, with Missouri. If ever a woman kept things close to her chest, it’s her. Pamela puts down her glasses, then blows on her drink. “Honey, I don’t wanna give unwanted advice, but if I were you,” Missouri pauses to laugh again, “I’d charge extra for that.”

Pamela crooks a grin. “Damn straight.” 

“But, I sense something. Something dark ahead of us, and I wonder if you can feel it?” Pamela can almost feel Missouri looking at her with that intent way she has, peering nearly into Pamela’s soul, and she shivers under the scrutiny, real or imagined.

“…I don’t know if _feel_ is the right word,” Pamela sips at her tea, “More… well. I can’t say I’ve _seen_ it, either. But there was a girl—a human girl—that turned out to be a fallen angel. There are demons and angels running around, and those boys seem to be smack dab in the middle of it. I don’t know _what’s_ coming, but it sure ain’t good. I know that much.” Sometimes, in the silence of the night, Pamela considers asking the spirits what’s happening—but that tight coil of fear in her throat stops her every time.

Missouri makes a soft noise of assent. Neither say anything until after Pamela drains her tea, and then—Missouri tells her, “You’re welcome here as long as you like. You know that.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I do. Thanks, Missouri.” She smiles as Missouri takes the cup from her hands.

“You ready for bed?” Pamela smirks at where she assumes Missouri is, lifts her eyebrows. “Honey, you get your head right out of that gutter. You need rest, after dealing with Rufus Turner all day. Come on, I washed some towels for you.”

And, well, maybe it’s nice to get taken care of, every once in a while. 


End file.
